


Sunshine, Rainbows, and Handguns

by DARWIN51



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Friendship, Marvel Universe, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:52:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6836095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DARWIN51/pseuds/DARWIN51
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Highest paid child star in television history? That's a pretty charmed life" "Yep, nothing but sunshine and rainbows." The aftermath of Kilgrave dug deeper into the girls' pasts than even he knew. And why would Trish be the one having nightmares because of it? Present day and flashbacks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Present Day

sunshine rainbows and handguns chapter 1  
A/N: Sort of a sequel to my oneshot “Afterthoughts” but you don’t need to read it to get this. It would have explained why they’re sleeping in the same bed (it’s completely platonic). 

Jess was awakened late that night by a slight shaking of the bed. She lazily rolled her head to the side to find Trish curled up on her side on the far edge of the bed, sheets kicked off, crying silently and shaking in fear.   
“Trish. Trish! Wake up! Hey! Trish.” Jess gently shook her friend’s shoulder.   
“I’m awake, Jesus.” Trish mumbled. “I’ve been awake.”   
“What’s wrong?”   
“It’s nothing.”   
“It’s something.”   
“Go back to sleep.”   
“Look at you, Jeez, you’re crying. You’re fucking shaking-“  
“I’m fine.” Trish insisted, beginning to settle down and swipe a few stray tears away.   
“He’s dead. He’s gone, Trish. It’s over. He’s not gonna hurt me, he’s not gonna hurt you,” Jess had kinda pictured a post-Kilgrave breakdown in reversed roles here. She thought Trish would be comforting her, not her comforting Trish about Kilgrave.   
“It’s not him.” Trish said.   
“…You don’t normally cry in the middle of the night like this, do you? I mean, I’m asking. I really don’t know.”   
“No… no, I don’t. It was just a bad dream.”   
Jess stared at her friend, knowing that was a lie.   
“That’s the truth!” Trish said after looking up and reading Jess’s expression.   
“What was it about?”  
“I’ll tell you in the morning. Go back to bed. You’ve got a big day tomorrow finding IGH.”   
“You’re going with me.”  
“Okay.”   
“So?”  
“…So? So what?”   
“So I can’t have you being tired either if you’re up crying all night.”   
“God, Jess, I’m done crying, go back to bed.”   
Jess laid back down and stared at the ceiling for a minute while Trish adjusted again.   
“Was it about your mother?”   
For a second Trish was almost angry at Jess for not letting it go. Then she realized she could answer that question honestly. “No.”   
“What was your dream about?”   
“You’re such a stubborn ass.”   
“You can add that to my door the next time the glass breaks. Jessica Jones, Private Investigator, Stubborn Ass.”   
“Don’t think I won’t.”   
“What was it about?”   
Trish let out a frustrated sigh, falling back to the pillows and linking her fingers together over her forehead. She probably would sleep better if she told Jess, just to say it out loud. “I… dreamt I was back in that room where we were holding Kilgrave, when he escaped and told me to put a bullet through my head.”   
Jess nodded slowly.   
“Well, in my dream there was still a bullet left, and I did it. I actually did put the gun under my chin and kill myself. And it’s not that the thought of that alone was so stressing that it’s keeping me up, but… like you said, Kilgrave can’t control your feelings. And somehow just the action of it… the warmth of the barrel under my chin… that overwhelming urge to pull the trigger… And I felt just like I was back-“   
“I know.” Jess said softly. “Look, that was a long time ago. You don’t want that anymore, do you?”   
“Of course not!”  
“I know. So put it behind you. It’s over. Both of them.”   
“I guess you don’t understand.” Trish said.   
“…There you go again. You said that the first time, when we were kids. That I “wouldn’t understand” Why do you assume that?” Jess challenged.   
“Because clearly you don’t. You’re taking immensely complicated issues and oversimplifying them, then dismissing them with a simple, “put it behind you.” I’m not criticizing here, Jess, I’m just saying maybe it’s not your thing to empathize with people’s problems.”  
“What is it exactly that I don’t understand? And if you say weakness again Trish Walker I swear I will slap you into next Tuesday.”   
“What? No joke about how my mother could do that for you, or that she already has?” Trish asked, folding her arms.   
“Do I usually do that?”   
“Yes.”   
“Oh. C’mon she’s such an easy target. It’s not like you mind.”   
Trish turned in the other direction and briefly raised her eyebrows, accompanying a shrug. Yeah, actually, she did kind of mind. She sighed, deciding not to answer Jess’s original question, because of course the answer was weakness. “Whatever, Jess. Listen, you don’t need to worry, okay? Having nightmares is just a normal person’s way of dealing with stuff like this.”   
“Normal. Thanks.” Jess said.   
“Go the fuck back to sleep.”   
“Whatever. Night.” Jess turned back over and let the conversation drop surprisingly easily.   
~//~


	2. 16 Years Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girls weren't exactly friendly with each other when Jess was adopted, but that doesn't mean they didn't secretly care about one another.

Flashback: September, 2000

Trish walked into the elegant entryway of her house, and threw her bag down violently on the marble floor. It echoed up the staircase. 

Jess walked in slower after her, looking simply bored. After spending the week and all last night listening to Ms. Walker’s screaming throughout the hotel suite about this and that, “public image”, and the norms of “showbiz”, even Jess was ready to jump out the fifth-story hotel window. Instead she just locked herself into one of the multiple bedrooms in the suite and tuned out the relentless expletives and criticisms that were never directed at her. That’s what she was best at; just staying out of the way.  
Ms. Walker had a separate “business’ meeting and needed to stay in the city for another day. Both girls knew this meant she was probably sleeping with a talent agent or blowing a prospective investor to get what she wants. Thankfully, she had the driver take the girls home early. Ms. Walker already knew that the pair of 14-year-olds could handle themselves for the night. 

It had been a tough week in the hotel, Jess would say that much. Ms. Walker had practically dedicated herself to making sure Trish kept up her image. She called it a new “diet”, which involved starving Trish every other day, and letting her eat normally the rest of the days. The thing about her mother’s version of this diet however, involved forcible vomiting at the end of the normal days. Between that and the stress of the press conferences and public appearances they were there for in the first place, by the end of the week Trish wouldn’t talk to either of them. She kept her head down except when her mother would smack her chin to keep her head up in public. 

And that’s why when they finally got home, Trish was so upset and Jessica was so tired of it all. 

Jess had expected Trish to go straight to the kitchen when they got home. She had been close to passing out on the 4-hour car ride, and when Jess ordered the driver to go through a Mc Donalds’s drive-thru, Trish ate two chicken nuggets then said her stomach hurt. She hadn’t really spoken other than that.  
She left her bag at the bottom of the stairs and went straight to her room when they got home. Jess frowned, easily picking up the dropped bag and carrying both girls’ heavy bags up the stairs. 

Trish’s door was already closed. Jess kicked it to knock since her hands were full. “Come get your bag, I’m leaving it right here.” 

The door swung open and Trish dragged her bag inside. 

“You want me to make you anything?” Jessica offered. It’s not like she knew how to cook. She was just trying to get Trish to feel better. 

“What, like food?” Trish snarled. 

“Yes, like food.” Jess said, trying to put as much sass into her response as Trish had. When Trish didn’t answer right away, Jess said, “C’mon. She’s not here, you can eat whatever you want. You can eat candy.” 

“I don’t want candy.” Trish crossed her arms. 

“It was just an example. I’m not gonna just stand here until you feel better. I’ll be in the kitchen.” She walked away, leaving Trish standing in the doorway. 

Jess went down the stairs, through the living room and into the beautiful spacious kitchen, illuminated in natural light by the many skylights. She pulled down a box of Frosted Flakes and set out a bowl for herself. She opened the fridge and stopped. Of course, no milk. They’d been gone for a week. Great. 

“You could have it with water.” Trish’s reluctant voice came from the kitchen entryway, where she leaned against the corner pillar. 

Jess closed the refrigerator and looked at Trish. “That’s disgusting.” 

Trish just shrugged. She wandered towards the island, as if not quite sure where she was going. “Eat it dry.” 

Jess opened the cereal box. “You having something?” 

Trish shrugged again, though she looked like she was now deliberately headed towards the pantry, still walking slowly. 

“These are Cheerios!” Jess cried, pulling the bag out of the Frosted Flakes box. 

“It’s my mom’s dieting technique for herself.” Trish said. She had taken something out of the pantry and was unintentionally holding it where Jess couldn’t see. “She put that there for when she gets her sugar cravings.” 

“Really, because…” Jess picked up a Special K box and pulled the bag out. “...here’s the Frosted Flakes, in her box.” 

“That’s just what Special K looks like.” Trish said in her “duh” voice. 

Jess dug her hand in and put a few flakes in her mouth. “These are Frosted fucking Flakes.” Jess sat down, contended with eating out of the bag. 

She watched as Trish brought a jar of peanut butter in her hand over to the island unscrewed the cap, and peeled back the new seal. In one fluid motion, Trish had dipped her entire pinkie finger in the full jar, and scooped it out with a giant glob. She smiled to herself and began eating pure peanut butter right off her finger. She gave a hum of approval and sat down across from Jess at the glass table. 

“You surprise me sometimes, Trish Walker.” 

Trish just shrugged and turned her head to look out the window, her smile fading. 

Jess tried to think of something to say, but she never really talked much anyway, so it didn’t feel natural to be the one breaking the silence. Still, she wanted Trish back to her normal self, but really wasn’t willing to put too much effort into it. Trish’s spirits would pick back up in a day or two, they always did. 

Once Trish had sucked the last of the peanut butter off her pinkie, she wiped the finger on her jeans. Another thing her mother would flip over. 

“Aren’t those your $200 jeans?” Jess asked. 

“I know. Isn’t it great?” Trish shot a partial smile. 

“Aren’t you afraid your mom’s gonna find out? Those are white jeans. you just left a peanut-butter colored streak on them.” 

“I’ll tell her I fell in the mud.” 

“On the top of your thigh?” 

“Are you threatening to tell her?” Trish challenged suddenly. 

“No, I’m just saying you should be careful. Just cause she can’t see us doesn’t mean she can’t find out what we’re doing.” 

“I don’t care! When are you gonna get it, Jess? I don’t care what she does anymore! I’m tired of tip-toeing around her with every single move I make!” She stood quickly, bumping the table. The Frosted Flakes box wobbled and fell to the floor, spilling a few Cheerios. Both girls held their breath as they watched the box go down, praying it wasn’t going to make a huge mess. It didn’t. 

Figuring Trish had had enough stress today, Jess knelt down to pick up the Cheerios while she let Trish scream it out. 

“What she does is my business, not yours. If I want to make a mess all over her perfect kitchen floor, so be it.” Trish kicked the box out of Jessica’s hands like a football kickoff, sending it flying across the room, spraying cheerios everywhere. 

“What the fuck…” Jess muttered, standing up. “I’m not picking all that up.” 

“Good. Don’t. I’m not either.” Trish folded her arms across her chest. 

“When your mom finds this, she’s gonna-“ 

“I’d like to see just what she’s gonna do about it.” Trish said defiantly. 

“You know what she’s gonna do about it.” Jess was getting pretty pissed off having to go back and forth with Trish like this. She wished she had just left her in her room. 

“What do you think would happen if I just went completely limp and let her do whatever she wanted to me?” Trish asked, though there was something off about the way her voice wavered. “If I just let her hit me with things, kick me, what do you think? You think she’d get frustrated and stop? …You think she’d keep going until she kills me?” 

“Alright. She’s not gonna kill you.” 

“Right. Because I’m her only source of income. Aside from blowing strangers. Without me, she’s nothing, and without her, I’m a fucking orphan like you. Do you know how quick people would be to adopt “Patsy”? And I’d have no say in it. And yet…” She gave a small, pained laugh, “we’d both be better off if the other was dead.” 

“Shut the fuck up Trish you don’t know what you’re talking about! You have the nerve to stand here, in front of me, and tell me that you want your mother dead. I’ll tell you right now: you don’t. You act like you’re so fucking entitled to complain about your mother to me, but I’m the last person you should be complaining to. I can’t keep sitting here and listening to you whine about the relationship you have with your mother because no matter what it’s better than having no mother at all, alright?” 

Even while she was talking, Jess was a little shocked at Trish’s blank, completely dead expression. 

Jess continued. “Why don’t you go tell someone important, a neighbor, a friend, a “trusted teacher”, someone who is can actually do something about it? I don’t wanna hear you complain to me anymore about how your mother abuses you. If you haven’t noticed, Trish, it’s kind of serious. She just binge-starved you for a week, if that’s even a thing. Go fucking tell someone, for real! If you’re not gonna do that then I don’t want to hear another complaint about your mother because just know that I have no sympathy for you whatsoever. You can fix the whole damn thing, you’re just too pathetic to do anything but whine about it. I can’t bring my mother back, but you can fix yours, so don’t fucking complain to me ever again.” Which was the most words Jess has ever spoken in a row since the accident.

Still, Trish’s expression remained blank, though her eyes were becoming red. A small breath caught in her throat and she turned around and walked wordlessly out of the kitchen, crunching through a mass of cheerios. She paused in the hall, stepped back into the kitchen entryway, and said so quietly Jess almost wasn’t sure if she even said anything. She said, “I’m sorry.” Then she was gone again. 

Once she was up the stairs and her bedroom door closed, Jess surveyed the disaster in the kitchen. “Fuck, Trish. Really?” She muttered, debating whether she should clean it up or leave it for Trish, since it was her fault. She sat back down into a suede chair, fists clenching and unclenching as her brain replayed the last few seconds in the car before the crash. Her mother, diagonally across from her, berating her about the game boy along with her father. She hated it when her mother got mad at her. Granted, she never did anything nearly like what Ms. Walker did to Trish. In fact, Jess’s mother had never laid a hand on her. And that’s why she always got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach when her mother was mad at her. She was so nice about it that Jess always immediately felt guilty for whatever she did. She hated that feeling. But of course, that feeling made up the last few moments she’d seen her mother alive. Scolding her. That’s the note their relationship ended on. That, and her mother’s scream for her father to look at the road-

A loud, slightly muffled crack echoed suddenly down the staircase, replacing the sound in Jess’s mind where the sound of the crash would have been. 

She might have grown up in a nice neighborhood, but Jess still knew a thing or two about the street. And she was pretty sure that sound was a gunshot. 

That was the only sound that echoed in her ears as she dashed over the cheerio sea, grinding bits of cheerio into her socks with every step. Not for the first time, she cursed the hall and stairs for being so slippery, making running nearly impossible. She used her strength to jump and was up the stairs in three leaps. Still, she heard nothing but the gunshot echoing in her head, or maybe that was her heartbeat? 

“Trish, open the door!” Jess pounded on the bathroom door, about to easily knock it down when she heard a soft, 

“Go away.” 

Relief flooded her. “Trish what the fuck was that noise? What are you doing in there?” Jess was pretty certain no one in this house had a gun. She told herself that as she thought of what else that sound could’ve been. 

“Open the door or I’m going to break it down! I’m serious, Trish. Right now!” Shit, she sounded like Trish’s mother. Except Ms. Walker couldn’t have knocked down the door if she tried, therefore that threat was invalid. 

Jess waited an agonizing ten seconds of silence, praying Trish would say something else, when she finally stepped back and threw her shoulder into the door.   
Three things happened in the next second:

First, the lock broke before the hinges, so the door swung inward rather than landing on the floor.  
Second, another gunshot went off.  
Third, both girls screamed. 

Jess screamed because she heard the gunshot, and that split-second instinct told her she had waited too long, she was too late. 

Trish screamed because Jess breaking in had caused the door to hit her elbow, knocking the gun to the side as she had pulled the trigger. She also screamed because she felt the bullet. 

Jess could feel that she had hit Trish with the door. She instantly looked behind the door and found Trish sitting on the tile floor with her knees to her chest, and a pink streak across her cheek. After a few seconds of stunned silence, Trish let the silver revolver in her hand clatter to the floor. 

“Trish, what the fuck!” Jess screamed, though it sounded quiet to both girls as their ears were still ringing. “What are you thinking, what the fuck are you doing with a gun!?” Jess knocked the gun quickly across the floor and out of reach from both girls. 

Trish’s eyes were red, and fresh tear streaks rolled over dry ones down to her chin. A harsh pink streak ran from her jaw nearly to her temple. She was crying softly in small, frightened, uncontrollable gasps, her fingers still curled like she was holding the gun. 

Jess realized that there was now only a small hole in the wall where the mirror used to be, and another one in the tile behind Trish’s head. She realized the mirror was in pieces all over the floor, and one shard was currently cutting into her knee. She didn’t care. 

“Jesus Christ, Trish. What the fuhh…” Jess tried to think of anything to say besides that, but that was all her brain was forming right now. She reached out to gently touch the pink streak. “What the fuck is this? Is this from… Jesus fuck, Trish , tell me this isn’t from the…” She couldn’t even bring herself to say “bullet” because she realized how close she had just been to losing the only person she still cared about in the world. 

Her fear quickly turned to anger. “What the fuck were you thinking!? You know people fight, right? It’s what they do, and they get over it. I didn’t actually mean everything I said; I do care about you, you know that right?” She got no answer. “Right!?” 

Trish just looked up at her, her features outlined in red from crying. She was shaking visibly. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Trish closed her eyes tight, pushing out more tears. They fell quickly down her face. She took a shuddering sigh. 

“I didn’t think I’d make you this upset, Jesus-“ 

“It wasn’t you.” Trish said hoarsely, just above a whisper, her eyes still closed. She swallowed tightly and opened her eyes, shiny from tears. “I’ve been planning it since Thursday.” 

“…Why? Jesus, Trish, why would you do something like that? Why would you try to…to…” Jess couldn’t finish her sentence. 

“To kill myself.” Trish finished for her. 

“Why?!” 

“…I don’t know.” 

Jess ran a hand through her hair, not even trying to hide the look of immense stress on her face. She knew things haven’t exactly been easy for Trish but she didn’t think once that she would take it this far. “What the fuck just happened in here? Why is the mirror all over the floor?” 

“I shot it.” Trish said. 

“Yeah, no shit.” Jess said, looking up at the bullet hole behind the shattered mirror. “Why?” 

“I saw my mother in the mirror. I wanted to know what it felt like to shoot her. But when I raised the gun I saw myself again, then her again. I don’t even know who I was looking at when I pulled the trigger.” 

Jessica couldn’t wrap her head around this. “And what exactly did you accomplish by driving a bullet into a fucking mirror?” She wasn’t good at stressful situations, and usually handled them completely wrong. 

Trish didn’t say anything. She let her head fall down to the side, facing away from Jessica. More tears formed, and she was still shaking. 

Jess looked around the room. Silver shards littered the floor, reflecting different parts of the room. The silver revolver lay on the rug near the tub. All that silver contrasted the pink of the rest of the room: the walls, the rug. 

“Don’t ever fucking do that again, you idiot.” Jess said hoarsely, pulling Trish’s shaking body into a hug. 

“I’m sorry.” Trish whispered. 

“Don’t get up, you’re surrounded by broken glass. Put your arms around my neck, I’ll carry you out.” 

“You’re immune to broken glass?” Trish asked. 

“It’s better than both of us stepping in it.” Jess lifted her and thankfully avoided being cut by any of the mirror on the way out. She walked back into the bedroom and set Trish down on the edge of the bed. 

Trish just rolled over, curled up, and covered her face. 

“…Can I bring you food?” Jess asked. 

“I’m not hungry.” She mumbled. 

“…Well I don’t really know what the fuck I’m supposed to do here, Trish.” Jess said, frustrated and still freaked out. 

“Leave me alone.” 

“Yeah, right.” Jess snorted. “So I can come running when I hear a gunshot again but this time find your brains all over the wall?” 

Trish flinched. “Take the gun. I promise I’ll stay here. I’m just too tired.” 

“Let me see this.” Jess said, turning Trish’s chin so she could see the mark the bullet left on her cheek. She touched it gently with her thumb. “It didn’t break the skin… Jesus Trish I think this is a burn.” 

“From what?” 

“I think just… the friction of the bullet when it passed you, maybe. If that’s possible.” 

“I felt it go through my hair.” Trish said quietly. 

Jess just stared at her. 

“…You can’t tell my mom.” Trish said. 

Jess knew telling her would only cause more problems, but it still seemed incredibly impractical not to. “How are we gonna explain the bullets in our bathroom wall? Or why your mother’s gun is missing two bullets. Or how you got this thing on your face?” 

“Can we worry about it tomorrow?” Trish mumbled. “I really just wanna go to sleep.” 

“Yeah, we’re gonna worry about it tomorrow. We’re gonna talk ‘cause I wanna know what the hell you were thinking.” 

“Jess, stop it.” 

“Stop what!?” 

“Freaking out. It’s really not helping.” 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to help you by freaking out. I think I have a right to-“

“Just shut up!” Trish yelled, sitting up. “I don’t expect you to understand.” 

“Understand what?” 

“Weakness.” Trish admitted. “If you haven’t noticed, Jessica Jones, you’re a lot stronger than me. Mentally.” 

“…So?”

“So maybe if you were in my place you could handle what my mother’s doing to me, the media, the interviews, the stress… but I can’t. I’m not strong like you are.” She took a shaky deep breath, like someone would after a long, much-needed cry. 

“Of course you’re strong, that’s bullshit, Trish.” 

“Clearly not strong enough.” 

“You told me your mother’s been – now I’m paraphrasing here because you’re too scared to say it- “abusive” for as long as you can remember. Even way back when you guys lived in a shitty, sketchy apartment. Her abuse is not always connected to the fame. Why is this just becoming an issue now?”

“I already told you.” 

“Told me what!?” 

“You wouldn’t understand weakness.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

“Then what’s the damn question?” 

“WHY!?” 

“…Because I don’t wanna take one more day of this shit! I want my mother to come home and find me dead, and maybe it’ll eat her alive wondering if it was because she pushed me too far. I want her to feel even the tiniest ounce of regret, and I know it would take my death for her to see that.” Trish practically shouted, much in contrast to her previous, subdued tone. 

“Well Trish Walker did you ever think about anyone besides yourself and your mother? Did it occur to you that it would most likely be me who finds you dead, not her? That I’d be left alone with her after you’re gone, if she even decides to keep me? Tell me something, Trish. If I hadn’t hit your arm with the door a few minutes ago, would you have died?” 

Trish looked pained and tried to roll around to face away from Jess, but Jess grabbed her arm, not caring how violently, and yanked Trish back to face her. “Tell me: Did you have that thing lined up to go through your skull?” 

Trish began crying and Jess shoved her away, much more gently this time. 

“I have to tell your mom about this.” 

“No! Jess, fuck no, I’m serious.” 

“Well when it comes to keeping you safe I’ll fight her any day, but I still am gonna tell her.” 

“…You sound like my father.” Trish said softly.

“Yeah except I care about you, for real.” 

“Who the hell said he didn’t!?” 

“C’mon, he used to beat you, too. I know that.” 

“Who the fuck told you that, Jess?” Trish demanded. 

“Your mother. A few months ago. She “sat me down” and thought I should know this family stuff.” 

“First of all, she told me not to mention him to you, because it’s “our family stuff, not Jess’s”, not that I planned on talking about him anyway. Second, you believe her?” 

“Well…I guess I’d believe you if you told me something different. It made sense why she hurts you, because he hurt her. Well, and you too. And then he abandoned you two. Was she lying?” 

Trish gave a sharp, forced laugh. She bit her lip in an angered grin and shook her head, gathering herself before speaking. “Yeah, he hurt her. Plenty. But only when she was going after me. He never laid a hand on me. He saved me, Jess. Over and over and over. From her.” Trish shook her head again, tears coming back. “If you ever wondered why there’s so much hostility between me and my mother, even when she’s not hurting me in some physical or emotional way, it’s because of him. He loved me, he protected me, I meant everything to him. Sure, sometimes he got violent with her but only when she deserved it. I know I know, I’m not supposed to say that domestic violence victims “deserve it”… but she really did.” 

“…Oh.” Jess said, still not getting the full story, but afraid to ask. She asked anyway. “So… then he left?” 

Trish covered her face with her hands briefly, before sucking in a deep breath and saying, “No. She called it “self defense”. She used the exact same gun I was holding a few minutes ago.” 

Jess spoke cautiously. “She… shot him?” 

“She killed him, Jess.” 

Jess slowly looked back through the open door of the bathroom, at the silver gun lying on the ground. 

“I didn’t choose the gun just because it would be quick.” Trish said softly. 

“You were making a point to your mother…” Jess put it together. “Well… fucking don’t!” 

“Don’t what? Make a point to my mother?” 

“Not by killing yourself, no! Shit like this happens because you neglect to think things through, Trish. You do realize you wouldn’t be able to see her reaction? To see her “learn your lesson”. You’d be dead, idiot.” 

“I know that, Jackass.” Trish retorted, throwing in an insult automatically because Jess did. “I don’t need to be alive for her to get the point. It’s not about me seeing anything.” 

“So you’d kill yourself just to prove a point to your mother? Maybe you really are as dumb as that critic said in that article.” 

“See Jess, that’s exactly my problem. You’re just as bad as everyone else, you know that? I just can’t deal with all the stress, all the time, the constant need to be perfect or god forbid some random fucking person with an opinion should say something bad about me. What do you think the media would do if I killed myself?” 

“They’d probably make up some scandalous story about why. They’d speculate on what dark secrets you’re hiding, they’d make up some excuse to believe it was murder… you know exactly how that would go. Not glamorous at all, no one would feel bad for you. We’ve seen it happen with other celebrities.” 

“Yes but none of them were fifteen fucking years old. It’s kinda different when it’s a kid, you know? That means there’s a parent to blame. Oops, looks like I only have one to put the blame on, huh?” 

Jess narrowed her eyes. A few minutes ago she was sick of telling Trish suicide equals bad. Now she realized with a sick feeling that suicide was still something Trish wanted, bad. “No. You’re fucking wrong. You wanna know what would happen? She would blame your problems – and hers – on your father. She’d say that the “lasting effect of his violence” got to you and tormented you even once you got away. Yeah, people might feel bad for you, but the memory of your father would be disgraced and he’d be seen as a monster. Is that what you want? “ 

“Shut the fuck up, Jess. I don’t need yet another person telling me how to run my life!” 

“I’m just the person telling you not to take your life!” 

“Well maybe that’s the only thing I still have control over!” Trish screamed. 

Silence fell over the room. 

“…Fine.” Jess said. “I’m leaving. You can tie yourself a noose or find some pills, whatever the fuck you want, Trish, but I’m taking the gun. If you kill yourself, it’s possible I won’t be far behind. Not because I care about you, but because I don’t wanna deal with the media, I don’t wanna deal with your mother, and I don’t wanna deal with foster care, a new school, a new home, new fake sympathy, all over again. We clear?” 

Trish was silent looking at Jess with disbelief. She knew she was lying; of course Jess was stronger than that. She looked like she wanted to say something but was holding it in. Finally, she said, “You think my sympathy was fake?” 

Jess was caught off guard. “Look, I don’t know what kind of sympathy it was, but it all felt fake. All I know is that there is Cheerio ground into my socks right now, your mother’s gonna hit you for sure when she gets home if that’s not cleaned up… and that I’d be screwed if you are dead.” 

Both girls were silent for a long time. Trish looked down at the blanket. “Don’t clean up the Cheerios.” 

“It’s a real mess, Trish. That was a full box.” 

“I know, just-“ 

“You want her to hit you? You’re gonna end up cleaning it up either way.” 

“I said just leave it. That’s between me and my mother.” 

“You’re a real fucking idiot sometimes, Trish.” Jess began to walk the other way towards the door. She turned around in the doorway. “I hope you don’t think you’re getting off that easy. I’m getting a book and a chair and I am not letting you out of my fucking sight. Got it?”   
~//~


	3. Present Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jess and Trish try to track down IGH

Sunshine, Rainbows, and Handguns Chapter 3

Present day (the morning after chapter 1)

It was almost as if they were putting off investigating IGH. When Jess first woke up Trish had already made scrambled eggs (mostly for herself, but she factored in the high probability of Jess stealing them). Jess had rejected them and made herself some toast. 

Then she helped herself to the eggs. Then she poured some cereal. Then she opened a bottle of whiskey.

“Hungry much?” Trish asked. 

“No, drunk much. You?” 

“You’re not drunk.”

“I plan to be before we leave.” 

“Why are you so nervous about going to investigate IGH?” 

“I don’t know, going to find the people who probably did experiments on me after the worst day of my life, and could potentially be experimenting on and torturing other kids-“

“Well all the more reason to go and find them and stop them, right?” Trish asked enthusiastically. 

“Yeah. We’re just gonna walk in there and “stop them.” Genius plan let’s go.” 

“Alright. Drunk little pessimist.” Trish took the bottle away from Jess. 

“Did you just call me a drunk little pessimist?” Jessica laughed. 

“No, I was talking to the other drunk pessimist in my apartment.” 

“You should try some of that you know, it really helps.” Jess pointed to the bottle. 

“I’ve had whiskey before, thank you. One of us needs to drive.” Trish put the bottle away in the cupboard and picked up her car keys near the front door. “You ready?”

Jessica burped an answer but Trish couldn’t make out what she said. As Trish walked out the door Jess turned back and grabbed the bottle, then followed after her.   
Trish slowed her car to a stop as she reached an intersection. 

“You could’ve made that.” Jess criticized, slumped in the passenger seat. 

“The light was red!” 

“Please tell me you know this place exists. Please tell me you google-maps’d it first.” 

“Look, I’m going to the address on the papers. It never said what would be there.” 

“It’s probably like… a temporary fairground. Or government housing. Or a Taco Bell.” 

“Those are three very different things.” 

“It’s probably a place where they bring people back to life and Kilgrave is there-“

“Jess will you stop it? Don’t do that to yourself.” 

“I don’t know, I started off that sentence joking, but then I kinda realized... what if I was dead, from the car accident , what if they brought me back to life or did something science-y to start my heart again, heal me? If that’s true, the thing that saved me could be saving Kilgrave or other serial killers. Dammit Trish didn’t I tell you to chop up the body and dump it in the harbor?” Jess rambled nervously. 

“Sorry, there were too many cops around, I only got to cut off an arm.” Trish joked dryly. “Jess what is with you? I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you like this.” 

“Shut up and drive. I was joking.” Jess took a swig. 

“You should stop drinking. What if something important is about to go down?” Trish said with just a hint of excitement. 

“Good then, I’m prepared.” Jess sloshed the remaining inch of whiskey around. “Why are we stopping?” 

“This is it. This is the address.” 

“This?”

“Mhmm.” 

Both girls peered out the passenger side window to see what their anticipation had been about. 

“…This is a fucking coffee shop.” Jess spat. 

“Those papers are almost seventeen years old. It’s likely they changed addresses.” Trish offered. 

“Let’s go.” Jess opened the door and got out quickly. 

“Wait- go where?” 

“To see if anyone knows anything!” Jess said in her classic “duh” voice. 

Trish rolled her eyes and got out, trying not to be hit by traffic on her side. She could already foresee an interrogation of an innocent civilian or two in the near future. 

By the time she got into the coffee shop, Jess was already pushing her way through the line. 

“Move it, how many straws do you need?” Jess shoved aside a kid who was stuffing his pockets with free plastic straws. 

“Hey, lady, there’s a line here!” One man growled aggressively, while others mildly expressed their disapproval of her intrusion but ultimately didn’t care to do anything. 

“Sorry about my friend, she only gets one day away from the institution per month.” Trish said as she brushed past the line. “Jess, you can’t just-“ 

“Hey, isn’t that Patsy?” A butch guy asked, making Trish momentarily question his leather jacket and spiked collar if he also recognized her as Patsy. 

“I need to speak to your manager. Or someone who knows two shits about this building. Then you can take care of your anal customers I’m not trying to get between you.” Jess demanded.

“…Who, me?” The barista looked at Jess, alarmed. 

“No, the other short skinny bitch standing behind the counter.” Jess said. 

The barista looked around at the rest of the area behind the counter, where she was the only one. 

“Yes, you! Jesus, go get your manager.” 

“My name is Karen. I’m not Jesus.” She sounded a little nervous. 

“Jess, I don’t think she’s kidding.” Trish whispered, sounding worried for the mental intelligence of their coffee-making friend.

“Okay. Karen. Go get your manager.” 

Karen’s eyes opened wide. “You mean Chuck?” 

“I mean whoever is in the back room there who is in charge of you!” 

“I was right, you’re thinking of Chuck. Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Karen disappeared. 

Jess turned slowly back to the line of people waiting. “I actually feel bad for jumping in front now.” She addressed them. “You must’ve been waiting here for a very long time.” She shrugged apologetically. 

“That’s alright,” An old lady with questionable teeth and probably questionable vision said kindly. “You enjoy your freedom while you have it. Do you know my son Barry? He’s a schizophrenic-“ 

Jess turned slowly to Trish, “The fuck did you tell them?” 

“I was told I am needed.” A loud, already obnoxious voice came from behind the counter. Everyone in the café turned to see a very tall, stocky ginger. “I’m Chuck, I am the current manager at this establishment.” 

“Yeah great thanks listen, do you know what building was here before this one?” 

“You mean before this became a Java The Cup coffee café?” Chuck asked loudly. It seemed every word this guy said was addressed to the entire shop.

“Yes, before it was this, do you know what building or organization was here?” 

“We are a chain café. There are many Java The Cup locations.” 

“Okay but I’m talking about this one.” Jess said. 

“This specific coffee shop, right here?” 

“Yes.” 

“So disregarding all of our sister cafes? You just want to know about this one?” 

“Yes.” 

“The one that we are standing in? The coffee shop?” 

“What else could I possibly be referring to?” Jess gritted her teeth. 

Trish watched Jess squeeze the metal line queue pole, crushing it in agitation. She grabbed Jess’s wrist and pried her hand away, turning back to make sure nobody in line had seen it. Yeah, they had. 

“Well, you could’ve been referring to the hardware store that was here before us.” Chuck said/shouted. 

“Or the bowling alley!” Karen chimed in, happy to contribute. 

“No, no, you’re thinking of the Java The Cup on State street. I think she means this one here on Roswell.” 

“Yes! This one!” 

“Are you sure she doesn’t mean the one on Rockwell, that used to be a strip club?” Karen asked. 

“No, I mean this one, on Roswell!” Jess growled, wondering how many people here had seen her face and if she could strangle these two and get out without being identified. Possibly… 

Trish leaned in and whispered to Jess, “I know what you’re thinking. People here have already recognized me, I’m guilty by association.” 

Jess disappointedly lowered her clenched fists. 

“This used to be a strip club.” Chuck said happily, and loudly, making heads turn. 

“No, you’re thinking of the one on Rockwell.” Jess reminded him. “Oh god now I’m doing it.” 

“No no, before Java The Cup this building was a hardware store Hector’s, I believe. Before it was Hector’s, it was a strip club. I believe it was called Hank’s. Same guy that owned Hector’s, if I’m not mistaken. The strip club didn’t last very long, though. Hank’s is not a good name for a strip club.” 

“No, it’s not.” Karen helpfully agreed. 

“Okay: This building, used to be a hardware store, then a strip club… and before the strip club?” Jess asked. 

“This one? Not the other Java The Cups?” 

“NO! This one, right here, where we are standing!” 

“Where I’m standing or where you’re standing?” 

“At this location, 2526 Roswell.” Trish added, leaning in. 

“Oh, here, 2526! Why didn’t you just say so? Before the strip club this building was nothing.” 

“…Nothing.” Jess repeated. 

“That’s right.” Chuck said, looking satisfied that he had helped out. 

“Great.” Jess turned around, ready to shoot someone, or herself. “What a waste of time.” 

“It’s alright, Jess, we’ll-“

“The building was built by the strip club owner.” Chuck called after her. 

“Hank.” Karen reminded him. 

“Right. Hank. He bulldozed the last building and sold part of the property. He built this on what was left.” 

Jess turned around slowly. “…What was that building?” 

“Some lab, I believe. Something like… Bio-K’NEX Endangered Scab.” Chuck said confidently. 

“Do you know where they are now?” 

“Let me print you a copy of the file we have for the building’s history. I mean the lot’s history, because the building has only been a bowling alley-“

“No, a strip club.” Karen corrected. 

“Right. A coffee shop, a hardware store, and a strip c-“ 

“Yeah we get it!” Jess finally burst. 

Chuck looked a little shocked but returned to the back room to print a copy for them. 

~/~  
“Well, he got the “Bio” part correct.” Jess said, looking over the single page of paper Chuck had given them while Trish drove to the new address listed on the sheet. “It’s called “Bio-Kinetic Engineering Labs”” 

“Sounds promising.” Trish said. 

Jess nodded absently. “It says they were sued once for performing experiments on animals from the pound.” 

“It says that on the paper?” Trish looked over. 

“No, I Googled them.” Jess said, concentrating on her phone. 

“Oh.” 

“Hey, I have a question,” Jess asked, thinking about last night. “Do you have any guns?” 

“What?” 

“In your house. I don’t know, you’re all self-defense and stuff, it seems like a you thing to have at least one lying around.” 

“First of all Jess, no one should have guns “lying around” they should be locked up and out of reach-“ 

“Thanks for the safety tip. So is that a yes?” 

“No. I don’t have any secret guns. Anywhere.” Trish wasn’t lying. She really didn’t have any secret guns. Trish was just using a different definition of “secret” than Jess was. 

“Alright. Apparently it’s on this block. We walk from here.” Trish pulled into a fancy-looking parking garage, feeding money into the machine and taking a ticket. “There’s no way in hell I’m leaving my car anywhere out in the open in this neighborhood.” 

“You realize if someone’s gonna vandalize your car, they can just walk in to the parking garage and do it? And if they want to hotwire it and steal it, they can just walk into the parking garage and do it.” 

“Nobody can hotwire this car. I’ve taken extra precautions.” Trish said, pulling into a spot in the far corner between a pole and a wall so no one can park next to her.   
“Of course you have. How much did these “extra precautions” cost you?” 

“…That’s none of your business.” They stepped out of the car and Trish pressed the lock button repeatedly on her keys as they walked away, out of habit.   
“And you have no way of knowing it actually works.” Jess pointed out. 

“It was tested.” 

“Of course the guys who give you the upgrade are gonna say it works.” Jess pointed out again. 

“Are you kidding? I tested it.” 

“Since when do you know how to hotwire a car?” 

“That’s none of your business.” 

“It was probably like, high school wasn’t it?” 

“Ehhh… More like middle…” 

“Wow. You still manage to surprise me sometimes. You’ll have to teach me sometime.” Jess said. 

“You never learned? I don’t know why, but I just thought you knew.”

“Um… I kind of never needed to. I can just, you know, pull the handle hard enough.” 

“Oh. Right.”   
~//~


	4. a few days ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trish unintentionally confronts her mother after all these years. It turns violent, but for who...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only set this to 4 chapters because that was how many I had outlined at the time. Since much with the present day has not been concluded, it's a pretty safe bet there will be more chapters.

Sunshine rainbows and handguns chapter 4

A few days prior: 

Okay, so this was kind of a disaster. Trish’s mother being at her apartment added a shit-ton of complications to the pre-existing shit-ton. Not only was she admitting to being a bad mother in the past (Trish was still skeptical about the sincerity of these claims) but she also wanted a “relationship” with her daughter. On top of all that, she was trying to bribe Trish into returning home to pick up some potentially game-changing files. 

Yeah, maybe more than “kind of” a disaster. 

Trish watched her mother’s every move on the other side of the kitchen island, certain that something subtle would give away why she was really here. Had Trish gotten too old to be hit? She wasn’t taking any chances. Then again… it would give her that excuse to fight back, like she’s been training for. Now that would be fun.  
Trish was instinctively debating how fast she could dart around the side of the island if her mother came at her from the other side, when her mother cleared her throat loudly. 

“What?” Trish asked suddenly, snapping back to reality. 

“I asked you a question.” 

“I missed it.” 

Her mother sighed impatiently. “I said, do you ever talk about me on your show?” 

“I thought you said you listened.” 

“Well, I only picked it up recently. I couldn’t figure out how to change the stations on my new car radio, I was stuck on NPR for months-“ 

“No, mother, I never thought you were worth mentioning.” Trish folded her arms and grew stiff again, wishing she would just leave. 

“Well, good. I assume you wouldn’t have anything nice to say anyhow.” 

“It’s not a show about me, mother, it’s about the world and pressing issues in society.” She said coldly. 

“Alright then, that’s fine. I’m only asking because I wouldn’t want you to say something nasty that you’ll regret when we’re close again.” 

Trish actually laughed out loud, bracing her hand on the counter. She covered her mouth and then shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean by “when”, because that’s never going to happen, mother. And I don’t know what you mean by “again”” 

“We used to be close…” Her mother said softly, looking like she wanted to reach out and touch Trish’s arm comfortingly, but thought better of the idea. “Do you remember that?” 

“No.” Trish said sharply. “Please, remind me.” 

“Our one-bedroom apartment.” 

“That’s called being physically close.” 

“I wasn’t finished.” Her mother said tightly. “We survived difficult times together, I took care of you when your father would have his… episodes.” 

Trish laughed lightly. She knew this was coming. “You will not bring my father into this.” 

“Do you not remember? Honey, he was the start of this.” 

“No, that was still you.” 

“Oh. Sweetheart. You must not remember the way he used to beat me… Let me tell you some-“ 

“No, mother, let me tell YOU something. Do you honestly think I wasn’t old enough to put together what was going on? I was six; old enough to make the connection that he would only beat you when you came after me. He may not have had the best of methods, but he was protecting me. From you. Do you know what I have, mother?” Trish turned around and walked up to a painting on the wall. She removed the painting and twisted the combination lock of a safe hidden behind it. “You never really noticed it went missing, which just again goes to show how irresponsible you were with children.” Trish removed a locked wooden box and set it on the counter between them. 

“What is that?” 

Trish opened the box facing her mother, and the polished silver glinted off the kitchen lights overhead. Her mother gasped. 

“It’s the gun you used to kill my father. It’s the gun that was millimeters away from killing me.” 

“I never pointed that gun at you!” Her mother defended. 

“No,” Trish said, snapping the box shut as her mother reached out to touch it. “Not this one. But I did.” She turned the box around to face herself and opened it again, taking out the revolver, shaking her hair out of her way, and putting the barrel under her chin. It was cold, unlike the last time she did this. 

“Patricia, my god no, what on earth are you doing!” Her mother began freaking out, which was the intended effect. 

“Calm down, mother, it’s not loaded. It hasn’t been for years.” 

Her mother breathed a sigh of relief. “Then what are you-“ 

“But it was sixteen years ago, when I pulled the trigger for real.” 

Her mother’s mouth was open in confusion, not sure what question to ask first. 

“I tried to kill myself.” She said calmly. “Jess stopped me. I wanted to see if you would care.” She set the gun back in its velvet grooves in the box. 

“Of course I would care-!”

“Because you’d have to get a job.” Trish cut her off. 

Her mother’s expression turned to anger, sick of not getting her word in and feeling misrepresented. 

“I’m certain the death of your only daughter would have upset you, I have no doubt about that. And I’m sure it’s because you wanted what’s best for me, not because of the money. Mostly. I wondered that if I took my life, would you ever realize it was because of you? Thankfully, Jess helped me conclude that you wouldn’t and talked me down from the proverbial ledge that day.”

“Because of me?”

“Because of what you did to me.” 

“What did I do?” 

Trish exhaled a small laugh, less out of frustration now and more out of anger. “At the age of SIX, I could already see what was incredibly dysfunctional about our family. Do not ever tell me that you didn’t see that how you were raising me was incredibly wrong, when you were in your 20s and 30s.”

“…It’s the life of the Business.” 

“You keep telling yourself that.” Trish stroked the handle of the gun once more, then shut and locked the box.

“It is, you just don’t see it because you’ve never worked in Hollywood; I opted to keep you in New York where your friends were.” 

Trish turned away and opened the dishwasher. Fresh steam rolled out and Trish picked up the silverware basket. She brought it to the counter above the silverware drawer, which put her directly facing her mother again. She flung each utensil into its slot in the drawer, to drown out her mother’s talking. 

“Patricia I- You don’t understand that that’s what people do in show business. I can see where you might’ve been mistaken because you didn’t know better. I was just trying to keep your career and image up and look where I’ve gotten you!” She gestured around at the expensive furniture and décor. 

Trish stopped, the spoon in her hand clanking against the granite countertop as she leaned on her hand to stare her mother down. She placed her words carefully. “It’s NOT “what people do”, mother. You can tell yourself that but “Showbiz” is very different from how I was forced to live.” 

“Everything I did – that’s what people do! It-“ 

Trish gladly cut her off for the umpteenth time. Her voice was low and steady. “People in “Showbiz” vomit their food to look skinny because they have mental problems, not because their mothers do. They have sex when they fall in love, and are comfortable, or at the very least consent to it, not because it’s “the social norm”. You think you’ve done me such a favor, bringing me into the spotlight, making me rich. But I’ll be honest, mother, I would rather have grown up with a loving family like Jess’s, without all the fame. Yet somehow we both ended up with you. I’m thankful every day that you didn’t drag her into your own problems like you did me.” 

“She would have killed me with one punch! Then again, you were quite the fighter, as well…” 

“Glad to know I retained some dignity.” She finished with the silverware and replaced the basket. She ran her hand over the smooth wood of the box, like she’s done so many times. 

“D- did you bring me here to shoot me?” Her mother asked warily. 

Trish laughed. “You’re the one who barged into my house.” 

“You let me in.” 

“And I shouldn’t have. I know this conversation has been for nothing. You’re just like a politician: no matter how much the facts are presented to you, you will never admit the error of your ways.” 

“So you’re gonna shoot me now?” 

“Is that what you think? That would be a nice poetic ending, wouldn’t it? The protagonist killing the abuser with the same gun the abuser used to kill the other protagonist and nearly died from it herself. Sounds nice, doesn’t it?” Trish was loving the terrorizing effect her words were having on her mother. She put her fingers on the lock of the box, just for fun. 

“I really don’t want to do this baby, but I have pepper spray in my bag-“ 

“You’re going to pepper spray me?” Trish asked, amused. 

“I don’t want to have to.” 

Trish smiled. “Go ahead. Do it.” She had been sprayed before, as part of training. It was no walk in the park but she could handle it. 

“Well I’m not going to unless you’re going to hurt me. Is this one of your little games?”

Trish opened the lock on the box and put her hand on the gun. 

Her mother’s eyes widened and hesitantly put her hand in her purse. 

Trish was thoroughly amused simply by the fact that this seemed like a western showdown. Good guy vs bad guy. Who can draw their weapons fastest? Trish lifted the gun quickly and pointed it at her mother’s head. 

Her mother pulled out the can of spray but before she could even blink, Trish had leapt up onto the counter and grabbed her mother’s arm. She jumped down bringing her mother to the floor like she had practiced so many times. Within seconds she had her mother nearly face-down on the ground, one arm bent behind her back. Trish was holding her mother’s right arm bent around in front of her face, so her mother was looking straight into the nozzle of the pepper spray can. She had her knee in her mother’s back. 

For a moment, Trish enjoyed the look of pure terror and pain on her mother’s face. “See? Not so fun, is it?” She said close to her mother’s ear. 

“I- I never d-did anything like this to you.” Her mother defended. 

Unbelievable. For all the times Trish’s own arm had been bent painfully behind her back, for all the times she was slammed to the floor, for all the times she was threatened and made to believe that some incredibly awful thing was going to happen to her, when really her mother had no intent on following through with it, she just wanted to see Trish terrified and therefore in her control… 

Rage took over like nothing she’d ever felt before. She dropped the pepper spray and reached up to the counter where she had left the gun and pressed the cold barrel to the back of her mother’s neck. 

Her mother’s breathing quickened. “I- I wasn’t actually going to spray you, I swear!” 

“I’d be doing you a favor.” Trish breathed. “Putting a bullet in your neck here is one of the fastest ways you’d die. You know they say you don’t hear the bullet that gets you.” 

Her mother was too scared to even speak, and was crying now. 

Trish regained her senses a little and looked down at her hand on the gun. Her finger was off the trigger, not to mention she had already said that it wasn’t loaded.  
Trish stood up and backed away from her mother, appalled by her own anger. Her mouth hung open, stunned, as she watched her mother slowly pick herself up off the floor, trembling. 

Trish turned away to replace the gun in its box, avoiding eye contact with her mother. 

“…P-“ Her mother began in a weak voice, but was quickly cut off. 

“It wasn’t loaded, mother.” Trish locked the box and put it back in the safe. “There is no ammunition anywhere in this house and there hasn’t been since I’ve lived here.” 

Her mother began cautiously. “You-“ 

Trish hung up the painting again and stayed facing the wall. “I’d like you to go now.” Trish said in a stern enough voice that told her mother she had no choice.

Without hesitation, she made her way quickly out the door. 

Trish felt sick. And not just because she had pointed a gun at her mother. As twisted as it sounds, that gun had always been the only sort of connection she still had with her father. They had both been hurt by it; physically, emotionally. But now her mother had, too. It sort of broke that exclusive bond between Trish and her father. The only one she had left. 

Then Trish remembered something that would exclude her mother from that special bond. That factor was: 

Her mother deserved it.  
~//~


End file.
